


the one wherein Blaine is Channing Tatum

by villiageidiot



Series: action movie Kurt and Blaine [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:16:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villiageidiot/pseuds/villiageidiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>White House Down Klaine AU snippet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the one wherein Blaine is Channing Tatum

The President of the United States is being held hostage inside the White House and Blaine Anderson is freaking out.

There’s some sort of paramilitary group seizing control and they have a goddamn _arsenal_ of weapons like bazookas and rocket launchers and a shitton of machine guns with an endless supply of ammunition. There are dozens of hostages and pretty much everyone in the free world assumes the worst, assumes the White House is lost.

And Blaine is in the White House.

Hence the freaking out.

“The President’s son is in there,” Mike’s voice says in Blaine’s ear from over their secure radio network. “Can you get to the President’s son?”

Blaine’s eyes widen because he’s been a bodyguard for all of ten days and only for a low-level politician, none of this _President of the United States_ crap. “The hot one?” is all he can think of to say. He hears footsteps down the hall so he ducks around the corner and presses his back flat up against the wall, clutching his gun closer to his chest.

Mike is quiet for a second. “Does that make a difference?” he says plainly.

“No,” Blaine hurries to add. “I just wanted to make sure we were talking about the same son.”

Mike sighs. “He only has the one so yes, I’m assuming we’re talking about the same son.”

Blaine nods to himself and wonders how many people listening in — the Pentagon, the CIA, the FBI — have now heard him call a member of the President’s family _hot_. He is so screwed.

“Blaine,” Mike says, breaking him from his thoughts. “Can you get to the President’s son?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately. “I’m on it.”

He hurries down the hall, ducks in and out of doorways, and navigates to the elevator. He climbs up through the gate at the top and starts to climb through the ladders on the inside of the elevator shaft. He figures it’s safest to be out of plain sight.

Blaine tries to catch his breath and figure out a plan. Before he can even think for two minutes, there’s gunfire and shouting just on the other side of the wall. And then there’s panicked screaming — the President’s _hot son’s_ panicked shouting.

“Shit,” Blaine says quietly to himself. He doesn’t even think of a strategy, just kicks his way through the broken gate to his left until he’s tumbling out onto the linoleum floor just a few feet from two of the psycho terrorists. Blaine takes them out with a few quick shots to the head as he does a badass slide across the smooth floor.

“Behind me,” he tells Kurt, standing up to grab the guns from the now-dead psycho terrorists. “Behind me!” he says again when Kurt stands there, motionless.

“Sorry,” he says finally, scrambling to get behind him. “I—”

“Have they said anything?” Blaine asks, tugging Kurt into an empty room after he does a sweep for any threats.

Kurt’s staring at him, eyes wide. “What? I—”

“Like their motives? What it is they’re after? Have you _heard_ anything?”

He gives Blaine a confused look. “Heard anything? I don’t—”

“Do you know who they’re working for?”

“Look, I—”

Suddenly, Blaine hears something outside the door and forcefully shoves Kurt behind him.

“Stop cutting me off,” Kurt grits out, irritated.

Blaine ignores him and carefully peers around the corner and almost takes a few shots to the head as two more militants head towards him. “Stay in here,” Blaine says quietly. “Don’t move.”

So he books it out of the room, does another kickass slide, and takes out another couple of psycho terrorists. When he makes his way back into the room, he sees Kurt with a panicked expression, frantically looking around. Blaine finally takes a good look at him and sees two open cuts on his face and a huge gash on his forearm.

“Oh god,” he whispers to himself, tucking his gun into the back his pants. “Are you okay?” he asks, rushing to Kurt’s side. He carefully reaches for Kurt’s face and rubs his thumbs gently over his cheekbones to wipe away the blood.

“Fine,” he answers faintly. “I mean, I think I am. What’s happening?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine answers honestly, still cupping Kurt’s cheek.

They stare at each other for a few long moments — a few moments they really don’t have — and why the hell is Blaine just standing here staring instead of trying to find a way out with the President’s son safely in tow?

“I’m fine,” Kurt says again, voice soft. He gives Blaine a crooked smile and his eyes crinkle just a little.

And _oh_ — that’s why. It’s because he’s standing inches away from the President’s hot son, cupping his cheek, breathing him in and god, not even a bunch of paramilitary a-holes could tear him away from this moment.

But then there’s some gunfire from somewhere upstairs and okay, maybe the paramilitary a-holes _can_ tear him from this moment.

“I’m getting you out of here,” Blaine says, leaning in close so that his forehead is only inches away from Kurt’s. Jesus, could he _be_ more unprofessional? “I promise you.”

“Okay,” Kurt whispers back, pressing his forehead against Blaine’s. “Lead the way.”

:

They’re stuck in the President’s kitchen, cornered, when Kurt asks Blaine for a gun. Blaine hesitates because the last thing he wants is for Kurt to have to kill someone, to have that on his conscience for the rest of his life.

“I can handle it,” Kurt says softly.

Blaine gives him a wry smile. “Like I could say no to you,” he says.

:

They almost die a few dozen times and Blaine decides that he’s seen enough gunfire to last a lifetime. If he gets out of this alive, he’s never bodyguarding another person in his life. The President’s limo winds up in the pool, the library ends up in flames, Air Force Two explodes, and Blaine lands himself a not-lethal-but-still-goddamn-painful stab wound.

It’s worth it, though, because at the end of the day, the bad guys die some pretty horrible deaths, the hostages get released unharmed (albeit with some pretty intense emotional scarring), and Kurt is delivered safely into President Hummel’s arms.

Ten minutes after that, Blaine’s on every news channel. Kurt gets ushered off by a few Secret Service men, the last surviving few, probably. Blaine stares after him and smiles to himself. Sure, it was a pretty shit day, what with the White House exploding and all, but the President’s son followed him and trusted him and looked at Blaine like he was worth something.

:

Blaine wakes up in a high-security hospital room to see Kurt hovering over him. He startles when he sees Blaine looking up at him.

“You’re still wearing that shirt,” Kurt says blankly. “I don’t understand.”

Blaine looks down to see what’s left of his sleeveless t-shirt. His bruised, bloody arms are totally exposed and there are a few tears in the middle that clearly showcase his bare stomach. He glances up at Kurt, confused. “What?”

“Just, your arms,” he says quietly. “And your abs. They’re just _right there_ and—” Suddenly, Kurt’s leaning down and kissing him. He pulls back quickly, though, before Blaine can get with the program. He watches Kurt with wide eyes.

“Do you want a job?” Kurt asks, words rushed. “My dad wants to know if you want a job.”

Blaine hesitates because being a bodyguard really is a terrible life, even if it _is_ super patriotic.

“Because I need a bodyguard,” Kurt continues. “And back there — you were pretty amazing.”

“ _Your_ bodyguard?” Blaine asks, cautiously. “That’s the job he wants me to take?”

Kurt nods and doesn’t say anything.

Blaine gives him a slow grin. “Like I could say no to you.”

: : :


End file.
